


Pulling Through

by JulyStorms



Series: Before Colors Broke into Shades [32]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3674850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyStorms/pseuds/JulyStorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you say to a man whose wife is dead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulling Through

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: #9. Things you said when I was crying. Erwin & Nile, requested anonymously on Tumblr.

What do you say to a man whose wife is dead?

 _I loved her, too, once_ , is insensitive.

 _Maybe I still do_ is cruel.

The funeral is simple. Marie looks like a shell in her casket, and Nile's children, too young to see inside, ask to be lifted so that they can say goodbye. It makes Erwin's chest ache to see their faces; it's amazing what makeup can do even for the dead, but the kids know the difference.

Nile's youngest says nothing.

The middle child whispers, "She looks priddy," because they can't remember having ever seen their mother look so healthy before.

The oldest bursts into tears. Seven is old enough to remember.

Erwin doesn't know what to say; he doesn't know what to do, either. He catches Nile's tired eyes and takes the youngest, who is only two and won't remember Marie at all in a couple of years. "What's your favorite color?" he asks.

"Yellow," is the answer.

Marie's favorite color, too.

The service is too long, but by the time they leave the building, the skies have started to clear and the sun is shining through the openings. It looks like a miracle but feels anything but. Nile herds his children into their rusty minivan and drives at the front of the procession. Erwin, in his white Cadillac, is right behind him, a tiny funeral parlor flag secured to the hood; he spends most of the slow drive watching it whip in the wind while wondering if there is anything he can do.

Nile doesn't cry until the casket is lowered.

Erwin is surprised to see him cry at all.

The kids are clinging to their dad, their little hands white-knuckled and twisted in the fabric of Nile's best black pants. Erwin can't look away; he doesn't think he's ever seen Nile cry before—not like this, with big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. For a moment, Nile looks sixty years old instead of almost-40.

Twenty years ago, Nile would have wiped at his face, embarrassed.

Now, he pays it no mind. Erwin supposes it makes sense. He'll only bury Marie once, after all, and there is no shame in crying.

He wonders what Nile's thinking about, now, and watches his friend's face instead of paying any mind to the others. Is he thinking about Marie twenty years ago: wearing her favorite twirly skirt, brown serviceable heels, and that lace-trimmed orange apron? God, the colors had been awful, but there had been an immediate attraction to her that day for both men. They kept going back to the bar hoping to see her, hoping that she would see them.

In the end Marie had set her soft brown eyes on Nile.

Erwin was glad, even then.

He's still glad of it, in a selfish, stupid, almost _evil_ sort of way. He's glad he's not burying his wife today. He's glad those aren't his kids clinging to his clothes looking for answers that he can't give.

Is Nile thinking about Marie twenty years ago with her bright, crooked smile and dimples, with hair down to her hips and a freckle on her left eyelid?

Or is he thinking about her last week, lying solemn in bed, her face gaunt, eyes sunken, lips thin?

 _"Last night,"_ Nile said to him on the phone the day Marie died, voice strained, _"she was holding my hand and trying to smile for the kids. And now..."_

Marie's parents take the children away when the casket reaches the bottom of the hole, and Nile's mom follows them: to give Nile a moment is the reason they give, but Erwin knows that's not the whole truth. Nile seems relieved to see the children gone—relieved, Erwin supposes, that they won't have to keep watching their father cry.

"Christ," Nile says when the stragglers have started wandering back to their cars. His voice cracks. "I can't make it stop."

"The crying?" Erwin asks.

Nile laughs, but it sounds like crunchy autumn leaves under a sturdy pair of boots. "That, too," he admits.

Erwin can't remember the last time he's tried to hug someone. Years, maybe. Usually other people hug him. He remembers Nile hugging him at their high school graduation; maybe that was more of a chest-bump.

He remembers the birth of Nile's first child, too. "I'm a _dad_ , you asshole!" he'd shouted in the waiting room, delighted as hell, and then he'd practically tackled Erwin in a hug, grinding his fist into the top of Erwin's head for no real reason at all.

This time Nile needs him to do it. So he does: he wraps his arms around Nile and squeezes.

He doesn't expect Nile to hug him back, but he does.

He does, and it's clingy and sad, and Erwin almost wants to cry himself for the way it feels: like sorrow and desperation and fear.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Nile says, fingers digging into the back of Erwin's jacket, sinking into the hug as if he's needed it for weeks. Maybe he has. Maybe Erwin should have taken some time off of work to see his best friend and his dying wife. "What the hell'm I gonna do?"

Erwin doesn't know what to say, so he only holds Nile tighter, as if to encourage him—or maybe encourage himself. A long minute passes this way, and Nile finally lets out a long, shuddering breath.

"Let go of me, you piece of shit," he says. "This is awkward as hell."

"Yeah?" Erwin just squeezes him more, and there is a moment, as brief and fleeting as crepuscular rays at dawn, where they're college boys again, roughhousing in the bar Marie used to work at.

They break apart when the moment passes, and Nile sighs. "I'm going to have to quit smoking," he says. "For the kids."

"It's a nasty habit anyway."

"...Yeah."

The silence between them stretches on too long, and the clouds cover up the sun again. Erwin thinks that maybe it will rain again, soon. "Hey," he says, voice steady and strong to make up for the fact that Nile's can't be, today.

Nile looks up, eyes questioning.

"You're going to be all right."

"You don't know that." But Nile's expression softens as he looks over his shoulder at the kids being herded back into the van by their grandparents.

And that's how Erwin knows he's right.


End file.
